


Missing him was dark grey (all alone)

by KMelion



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Color Blindness, Helermo is endgame, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Suicidal Thoughts, semi happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:46:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28721604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMelion/pseuds/KMelion
Summary: You can only see the world in shades of grey, except for one color that represents both you and your soulmate's connection. After you kiss them, you get to experience the world in full color and when your soulmate dies, you lose /all/ color. For the longest time, Martín sees red. There are stereotypes about his color.Or: The berlermo/helermo colorblind soulmate AU nobody asked for.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	Missing him was dark grey (all alone)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first draft of this in a few hours and it was like 5 pages of just rambling about the different scenes and then the next two days or so I was like ah yes, finish this now or die and lose interest. -- In a weird twist of events, I then let it sit in my drafts for several months (semi beta'ed by a friend) until I randomly got [this](https://youtu.be/ySoCDCICil8) fanvid recommended and I was like a fuck just post it. I'm not happy with it, but I figured might as well bc otherwise, I've just written 8k words for just myself and no one else.
> 
> Missing him was dark grey (all alone) - Red by Taylor Swift bc tell me that’s not the perfect line for a colorblind soulmate AU

###  **i**

He is born into a dictatorship.

Martín is a tiny child, beaten and bruised as he sits alone in the closet his mother locks him in whenever his father drinks himself into a rage. He is seven years old the first time he realizes blood is red. Of course, logically, he knows that already, but seeing the vibrant hue as it drips from his nose onto trembling fingers is a very different experience.

After that, he notices some of the food he wants to steal, when they try to starve the disgusting unnamed something out of him, is red as well. Martín doesn't touch it. 

People who see red are said to live a passionate but pain-filled life and to bring destruction over themselves and others. In short: they’re dangerous.  
Martín is too young to understand the full extent of his fate. Nonetheless, this, like the other thing, is something his parents hate and therefore can't ever know. Outside, people are disappearing, he sometimes sees the trails they leave.

###  **ii**

As a teen, a young man, really, Martín is too accustomed to hiding his vision, to looking away whenever a pop of color appears, to revel in the wonders of red. But it's not like the things he sees are interesting. It’s just that the world is filled with random specks of color in unimaginative places and it soon loses its magic. He’s even seen his blood often enough to no longer care about the way it clogs and changes as he recovers. The pink of healing wounds is nothing short of an annoyance.   
So no, Martín doesn’t care for red. It’s not a good color. Yet, as he stumbles out of a bar, he finds himself idly following the drips of blood that leave a painfully obvious trail on the otherwise colorless ground.

Behind him, Martín still hears the loud voices, but as he rounds a corner into an alley, it's quiet for a moment. On the ground, hidden between trash, is an injured man, covered in dark red as the life lazily drains out of him. Years later, Martín will quietly chalk the next few moments up to the amount of alcohol in his system. Still, the truth is, the stranger is stunning, and Martín has never been in love.   
There's something about the way the stained fabric of the man's jacket clings to his chest. The blood on his face and in his hair make a striking image among the otherwise monochromatic world. With so much red on one person and so much grey in Martín's world, he is sure this dying figure is his soulmate. Love at first sight, while in reality it is just desperation to find the warmth he gets denied as he places a kiss on the stranger's cheek.

Martín’s lips stay clear of the crimson liquid. There is a sickness that lives in the blood of men and it kills boys like him. He doesn’t want to risk it.

His mother, who had hated him before Martín even was old enough to understand the institutionalized religious hate towards who he is, always warns him never to kiss boys. To a certain degree, he knows it's just homophobia. At the same time, even he knows the stories of a true love’s kiss changing your entire world and how you can know your soulmate but never see in color until you kiss them.   
The man spews weak insults at Martín before changing his tune and begging for someone to not take him away. Perhaps, it's not his time yet and he claims he never did bad. Martín knows, with so much red surrounding them, no help can arrive in time to save him. 

It’s cowardly, but he is still so young, too young for jail, and thus, Martín runs away.

###  **iii**

Adulthood brings freedom, the ability to run from his abusive home, and soak up the world's knowledge. With his childhood hidden away in a dark corner of his mind, Martín can think and learn for himself as he builds his own worldview. The stigmas around his vision and sexuality don't change, no matter where fate leads him.

He becomes a trained engineer, ready to show everyone they're wrong and that a gay man can see red and be successful in life without destroying himself. However, as he starts working an average, downright boring, job in Germany, Martín soon goes back to what he knows.   
Once again, he starts stealing to survive. He finds himself in bars, and leads the passionate life of an unhinged man bored from his day to day work. That is until someone tries to steal his wallet. In retaliation, Martín takes the man's watch, his cufflinks, the wallets, and, most surprisingly, a small velvet pouch with freshly stolen diamonds in them. 

Andrés de Fonollosa smiles at him like a shark, but the burgundy jacket that adorns his frame and the soft scarlet light of the sunset make him look ethereal. Martín is instantly enamored, and they hit it off right away. Apparently, the universe likes to play with him, as nothing ever comes from flirting with Andrés.

They’re two halves of a whole, and while Martín is left mooning over a man who quickly becomes his best friend, nobody can deny that they belong together.

###  **iv**

Nonetheless, Andrés’ first wedding makes Martín sick, and he wants nothing more than to set fire to the red fucking roses on each and every table.

###  **v**

He drinks his way through the second wedding, is already hammered before the third one starts and blacks out in the middle of the fourth one. For the fifth one, Martín wears a bright pink shirt because, just like him, Tatiana sees red. However, unlike him, she doesn’t have as many hues, and he needs her to realize that marrying Andrés won’t change that. Of course, he knows they’ve already kissed, hell, he has heard the moans and barely stifled cries of ecstasy, but a tiny part of him still hopes she will realize and leave Andrés.   
It’s a cruel and selfish dream, but the longer Martín spends time around Andrés, the more hues of red he can see. It's not even just something he imagines, but the pinks and magentas get brighter, and he discovers orange to be the most beautiful color when the sun rises. 

She stays, but it’s a small wedding, and Martín’s pretend joy turns into real fun as he jumps around the monks and dances with the guys they want to hire for their gold heist. Hell, he even kisses Sergio, the groom's brother, and oh, yet another kiss on the lips that doesn’t magically reveal a soulmate who isn’t Andrés. The thought makes him a little bit bitter. 

###  **vi**

Andrés is sick, and Martín can feel that he is losing his soulmate before ever even having him. Because it has to be Andrés, it can't be anyone but this one magnificent man, and in his heart, he is sure, Andrés knows that too. Of course, that doesn't stop the idiot from marrying five times, and it doesn't stop Martín from hooking up with random strangers. However, the difference is that for Martín, there never was another option, but the very man he is planning to melt gold with. ( Unlike Andrés, Martín never kisses his conquests on the lips. )

It takes the better part of ten years for Martín's liquid courage to shut Andrés up in the middle of a monologue that is supposed to be their last goodbye. He can tell what the other is doing and won't let it happen. All this talk about knowing Martín will think of him, but Andrés won't do the same. Martín has to listen to Andrés finally admitting that he wears red only for him, that he knows they have a special bond. Their love is extraordinary, unique, wonderful, Andrés says, and for Martín, it's like a dream come true but with the bitter aftertaste of it turning into a nightmare. 

"You and I are soulmates," and the pause indicates that Andrés wants to continue. "But only 99%. As you know, I really like women."

It hurts. The cruel irony of that statement isn't lost on Martín, a gay man hopelessly in love with his platonic soulmate. But it's not all that platonic when desperation drives him to kiss Andrés. After all, what is one mitochondrion against 99%? It defines Andrés’ desire, makes him straight. Still, there is nothing heterosexual about the way he leans into Martín, about the kisses he allows to be stolen before Martín's bravery leaves him. Instead, Andrés pushes him against a wall to devour Martín whole.

Neither man is prepared for the explosion within their heads, the sudden array of colors defining their features as they stare at each other. Martín isn't sure what drives the tears into his eyes but knows at the very least, he has a migraine from his vision changing. Andrés breathes the tiniest of kisses against his lips and then speaks up again.   
"I'd give anything to feel that, but," another kiss leading up to something that surely will be another lie. It's terrifying to think the lover already knows what his beloved will say. "It's impossible." 

And Martín is wrecked, he is but a shadow of a man as he weakly shakes his head. Andrés hasn't even left yet, and Martín already knows it's over. He can see the pain in Andrés’ brown eyes and the burgundy velvet hugging the man he loves. Well, isn't it just his luck that he gets to have the heartbreak of a century in full color?

" _Te quiero_ , Martín." This is the story of selfish love. A beloved who pushes his lover away to protect him, to keep his own dignity and then, there is the lover, who has waited for a decade until it's his turn to lose his other half.  
"We must part ways and scrap the plan." 

"Your _hijo de puta_ of a brother told you I loved you." It's the first time Martín dares say it out loud, knowing very well that these words won't ever fall from his lips again. "And now you're leaving to make photocopies with him? I suggested melting gold together."

Andrés is preparing to leave. Martín watches him take his time as Andrés shrugs on his coat, puts his hand on, and when he looks as majestic and powerful as always, Andrés turns away. "You're hanging onto something that doesn't exist and never will! I have to leave you. It's -- for love. For brotherhood and the commitment I have to you.

Leave and heal your wound.

I’m sure that, one way or another, time will bring us back together again."

Just as the last word sounds, Martín feels his knees buckle, and Adrés doesn't even turn around again. Instead, he leaves, and Martín watches him walk away. He can't fathom how the other one can go after what just happened. Andrés will meet and dine with Tatiana, his wife with the ginger hair, who he can now see in color. But it is because of Martín and not her. 

Andrés doesn't come back and once more, Martín is left to his own devices.

###  **vii**

He can't enjoy his improved vision. As a broken soul, he grabs the red wine and empties it while staring at the portrait of Andrés he had commissioned for him as a gift.   
It's a life-sized painting with a midnight blue background that brings out something otherworldly in the man. His pale skin shines against the mahogany of his suit, and the picture is adorned with specks of gold here and there. Truly a masterpiece that needs to be viewed in full color, but now it just serves as a reminder of what Martín lost. 

While packing up his belongings, Martín doesn't dare look at himself in a mirror. The sight of red-rimmed eyes isn't new, but he can't bring himself to experience the icy blue of his iris, which Andrés claimed to love.  
Instead, he leaves the monastery without a second look back.

It's only months later, with the help of alcohol and pills, that he manages to breathe again. Time passes in a blurry haze, and the meaningless hookups in clubs with colored strobing lights, allow him to pretend he is still alive. Deep within his chest, of course, his heart has stopped beating.

###  **viii**

One day, Martín turns the TV on, and he sees people in red. Without a doubt, it's Sergio's crew, which means Andrés has to be among them. It's pure devotion to his soulmate that forces Martín to sit down and not curse loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. For days, he doesn't do much else but follow the news and pray for Andrés to make it out alive. Still, Martín knows he doesn't actually have to address any deity. He knows his soulmate never planned to return from the heist.   
( They show an interview with Andrés from inside the Royal Mint, Somehow, the man manages to look beautiful despite his injury and ugly crimson overall. )

Within the same week, Martín’s vision starts to flicker, and then, one night, as he watches the police storm the building, the colors drain from him. A button in his head clicks, and like a train driving through his mind, the world bleeds out and leaves a grey headache in its wake. All of a sudden dizziness cards through his mind and with hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, Martín runs to the toilet. He vomits and spends the rest of the night crying on the floor, knowing, without the news or Sergio or anyone else, that his soulmate is dead.

###  **ix**

The world is dull thanks to Martín's grey vision. His day to day life is black and white just like his constant swinging between grieving and mindless self-destruction. There is no in-between, no chance of getting better for him as he is missing a part of himself that he knows he can never get back.

It's only because of the pills that he can pretend to function. They make Martín numb enough to go out and drown his sorrow in alcohol, eat every once in a while, and fuck a stranger when his loneliness catches up to him. The faceless men still don’t get a kiss even though he knows nothing will change his vision anymore. It’s more about the principle of not losing Andrés than anything else. After all, there have been enough other fluids in his mouth to erase the lingering sensation of their first and only kiss. 

###  **x**

Years later, when Sergio knocks on his door, Martín thinks he feels something again. Surprise, perhaps? It's not exactly happiness that stirs within him when he sees his old friend, and the wall behind him appears in a muted mustard color. No, it's terrifying, it's shocking, and he can't help the way his face falls. Surely, Martín reasons, it’s the alcohol that is finally taking pity on him, the mercy of his brain turning to mush and thinking it sees the impossible. For a moment, he is somewhat happy with the morbid idea of finally dying, but the color disappears, and Sergio wants to melt the Gold with him to rescue some kid.

Martín, later, isn't proud of his reaction, but he screams, he throws a tantrum, and when the moment has passed, he just cries. He is helpless like that, not someone you want on a heist to rob the Bank of Spain, but it's partly Martín's plan, and Sergio respects that. They hug and bond over Andrés, his name is like a whisper between them before they return to themselves.

"How are you?" Sergio asks as if he isn't holding the face of a ghost in his hands.

Martín wants to laugh at him, but his heart is still bleeding, and truly, he loves Sergio like a brother. He holds the man close and lies through his teeth because Sergio doesn’t understand the empty bottles, the ruined apartment, and the way Martín's pupils are more prominent than usual. "All right. Hanging out with Johnnie Walker, sucking down pills, eating canned food, but I'm alright."

Sergio, bless his heart, dares to look skeptical, but who can blame him? Martín claims he has found the formula. He can dance his way out of this agony and high as a kite, he wants Sergio to swing along. They end the night with Martín telling Sergio about shabby bars in Buenos Aires, the music of his youth, and how he once upon a time didn't feel this pain. Still, he lies because Sergio considers him a wild card but wants him to lead the heist. And if he were to know just how low Martín has sunk, he would leave again.

Instead, Sergio helps him pack, and they leave before dusk.

###  **xi**

In an unsurprising twist of fate, the monastery is still void of colors. Even that one damned wall, to which Martín had been sure some color would’ve been burned into after that explosion years ago, is grey. It appears his red is truly lost forever.

The children Sergio calls his family, his crew, who have somehow pulled the greatest heist in history, are a bunch of idiots. Sergio, El Profesor, is their king. Meanwhile, Martín pulls himself together and suffers quietly through withdrawals as he refuses to lose himself within the halls of the monastery again, and Sergio seems thankful for that. As a sign of trust, he gifts Martín a new name. With that, Palermo decides to put on a facade and protect the part of himself that is still crippled with the agony of losing his soulmate.

He fully steps into the role of Palermo, an egocentric engineer who cannot be touched by anyone and who has, alongside Berlín, come up with the plan to melt the Bank of Spain's gold.

They start the preparations for the heist as a school, with a classroom and a set of rules even El Profesor has already broken. No personal relationships, Martín's old friend says and looks at the woman next to him like she hung the sun, the moon and the stars and painted every detail in the world a different color. She is an ex-cop and decided to bring her family along to Italy to keep them close and hidden. Lisboa's daughter, Paula, is just about old enough to meet the wonders of color.  
In the front sits yet another seeing couple, Denver and Estocolmo. They, too, have brought a child with them, and Martín likes to think the boy has rosy cheeks, as all happy toddlers should have.  
Then there is Tokio, who, although knowing Río isn’t her soulmate, wants to let hell rain down on the Spanish government for taking him away. Palermo hopes she sees red like he used to; it would fit her.   
Nairobi and Helsinki, just like Andrés used to, see blue. It’s the most common color, but many, just like his soulmate, claim it's the most beautiful color to be stuck with.   
Bogotá has green, it's his hope in life, and Marseille is convinced the purple that can never be red or blue is a sign of his demisexuality. Something about needing to fall fully in love before, with sexual attraction, he expects more hues to appear.

Palermo later discovers that Lisboa's mother lives her life in a grey world as well. Her mind is frail and she needs a thousand little notes to get through her day. Sometimes, Martín thinks some of them might be yellow, but he is always drunk and alone when the thought hits him. ( Sergio never said anything about having to fully pull himself together when he is lonely in the middle of the night. )

###  **xii**

Seeing as the no personal relationships rule has no real point, a quick fuck with Helsinki shouldn’t be a problem. Palermo flirts shamelessly; he lets the others know exactly who he is and what he likes. No, he doesn't want these people to like him; he needs them to listen and follow his lead, that's all.   
There is no room for love in his life; he is fundamentally unlovable, but his own body betrays his loneliness and screams for a companion it no longer can have.

Helsinki, however, is the odd one out. The brute looks at Palermo as if he knows the real Martín beneath his mask, and that can't happen. So if El Profesor can set up rules and boundaries, Palermo can do it too.

Boom. Boom. Ciao.

He finishes a long speech about the pros of anonymous gay sex and is met with silence until Denver makes a sound that closely resembles a drunk hyena. "But aren’t you scared one of your fuck buddies turns out to be your soulmate? Like imagine he spends the night and you wake up all colors and shit, and he is just gone. You said no names, just sex, but not knowing who your soulmate is would suck, " he says and dares to sound somewhat concerned. 

Palermo wants to smack him, but instead, he makes a kissy face, winks at the boy. Denver doesn’t know it, but the described scenario is not something Martín has to fear anymore.

Tokio snorts, "Yeah, right, he needs to be able to feel love to see colors, Denver." And it stings more than he had expected. But she is right, isn’t she? Palermo is colorblind; Palermo has never even seen red, and since he is allowed to be this new person, it’s all the easier to forget little broken Martín. Still, he shrugs in mock disbelief.

Nairobi interjects, "So what do you see then? If even Marseille has a color, _cariño_ , what about you? What are you hiding from us?" 

And that is not a conversation Palermo wants to have sober. -- Or ever for that matter but as his features, against his will, turn into a scowl, he can see something wicked bloom across the women’s features. Both Tokio and Nairobi can smell the blood their teasing has left, and Palermo debates to just up and flee from the table. Dignity be damned, he hasn’t spent that long in a dark hole to now put all his heartbreak out in the open for these bitches.

But then again, he used to see colors. Red, he wants to tell them, but his lie would be caught all too easily by the four people around him who can see everything. Even as his complexion changes and red hot anger creeps up his neck and to his cheeks, they see him.

It’s Sergio who dawns understanding for his predicament and thankfully doesn’t comment on his suspicions. Martín thinks he can see the question form in his head. ( How long did your colors last? ) Marseille is next; he remembers Martín knows red, and as realization appears on Bogotá's face, Palermo just shakes his head.   
But it doesn’t matter. His world is meant to be monochromatic. But as Paulita, who sits on the ground with Cincinnati and draws - thankfully not listening to the adults - asks him for the 'sun colored' crayon, he picks it for her without thinking. 

When he looks back at the table, he sees mixed reactions, as well as pure and unadulterated confusion from Sergio. Thinking about it, Palermo tells himself he picked the right one because the crayons are labeled. As he walks away, he can almost believe himself.

Yellow is too vibrant, too luminous, it stands for happiness, creativity, and enlightenment, but it doesn't reach the broken man Palermo hides in a dark corner of his mind. No, he won’t see another color. His vision left him the day Andrés died, and there is no coming back from that.

###  **xiii**

The same evening Helsinki seeks him out, and it's boom, boom, ciao. No kissing, no real names or intimacy, and somehow, Helsinki still readily agrees to worship every other inch of skin he finds. It confuses Palermo, who expects rough sex, a quick fuck, but instead, calloused hands grip his hips as if he is something precious and breakable. Through Helsinki's stubborn desire to not just pursue his own bliss but to make Palermo moan loudly at every thrust, he is soon falling apart. The passion, coupled with expert movements, encourages him to let his pleasure be heard until he is just a whining mess, begging for release.

Afterward, Helsinki wants to stay. Palermo watches him pull out a heart-shaped lollipop and lounge on the bed as if he belongs there. He doesn’t, but for just a moment, Martín longs for the company. Instead of throwing the man out right away, Palermo turns and brushes his teeth. He blames the yellow toothbrush on his post-orgasm haze, happy little chemicals that tell his brain he can still see colors even if it’s impossible. Through the mirror, he sees Helsinki's tattoos, which Palermo knows should have a blue hue, are still black.

However, it’s not just the toothbrush but the promise of intimacy that makes his mind race. Alongside a badly improvised speech and some nicely concealed panic, Palermo gets Helsinki to leave him alone. The hug, on the other hand, is unexpected, and its warmth almost makes him change his mind. Almost.

###  **xiv**

In the morning, on his way to the kitchen, Palermo has to do a double-take as he walks past one of Mariví’s post-it notes. The rich yellow clashes with the grey of everything around it, and this time, it's sadly undeniable.  
Like a little sun, it shines bright and signals the start of something new, something Palermo isn’t able to handle yet.

He goes back to his room and tries to ignore the splashes of color around him as he heads straight for the amber liquid in a bottle on his nightstand.

By the time he makes it to class, Palermo is well on his way to being drunk in the middle of the day. El Profesor looks at him with a mix of disappointment and concern as Martín stumbles on his way to the blackboard, struggling to explain the next stage of their plan. He can handle the disapproval of a bunch of strangers ( and Sergio ), it's nothing new, but somehow, Helsinki being unwilling to meet his eyes hurts more than expected.

###  **xv**

This new development has one decidedly positive note, he thinks. Palermo will be able to see the gold, and while he is giddy about it, everything else concerning his changed vision is terrifying. He wanted to melt the gold with Andrés. The idea was to have his soulmate by his side as they both witnessed their plan succeed in full color. Now it feels like cheating, and he can’t help the guilt that crawls up his throat.

Of course, it means Martín isn't doomed to be alone and miserable forever, but someone as unlovable as him doesn't deserve a second chance. Nobody should be stuck with a soulmate who still clings to someone else, who is as much of a bastard as Palermo is, but then again, they won't want him. It's better this way; he doesn't want a second chance anyway, no one will ever be able to replace Andrés.

To be honest, Palermo would gladly throw himself back into the old rhythm of alcohol, drugs, and whatnot, but he can’t do that this close to the heist. It's the last thing he still cares about. The plan is his and Andrés brainchild, and he'll be damned if it happens without him.

No, Palermo has to be there.   
So as they march right through the front door, following his lead, he almost manages to forget his changed vision. The color of the overalls he knows should be red, his red from when he could still see it, but Estocolmo’s blonde curls distract from the otherwise grey outfits.   
Ignoring that, so far, everything else is going well.

###  **xvi**

Correction, everything is shit, and there is glass stuck in his eyes.   
The pain exploding on his face is mind-numbing, throwing him in and out of consciousness every other minute. And yet, as Palermo feels Tokio’s hands approach with some old tweezers, he bites back like the wounded animal that he is. 

Whatever painkillers are being pumped into his bloodstream, it’s enough for him to piss on Tokio’s good intentions. They drown out the agony and falsely convince him he is still able to think straight. Logically, Palermo knows walking around with pieces of glass stuck into his eyeballs is a bad idea, especially in the long run, but there are more pressing matters he has to attend. Instead, he makes Denver his dog and grabs the boy’s arm before stalking off to keep the plan going.

Half an hour later, Helsinki wrestles him down to pick the shards out of his eyes with medical tweezers. Palermo tells himself he only conceded as quickly as he did because the pain is about to return. It has nothing to do with the soothing effect Helsinki’s big hands have on Palermo's ruined face or the gentle words of encouragement the brute whispers into his ear.

( Martín is starting to think he is a lousy liar. )

When Helsinki, a day later, takes the bandage off, Palermo wants to cry. He should've let them take the glass out immediately, fuck, he should've let Gandía kill Tokio.   
The right eye is a blurry mess, but the golden ornaments adorning the walls of the library remain painfully visible. It's the other eye that is unsalvageable with just the center allowing for some light and shapes while everything else is a blind spot.

Palermo knows Helsinki, Denver, and Tokio lead a silent conversation right in front of him, but his bitterness demands him to remain quiet. He isn't about to openly admit to having yet another weakness even if it is obvious to the trio. Hidden from the other two, Helsinki lays a comforting hand on Palermo’s. It's all he needs to be able to keep going. 

Andrés would've loved the irony of his story. Martín has loved and lost. Now that at least one color is back and he has the opportunity to see the gold in all its glory, Palermo loses his eyesight.   
Yes, it’s poetic, the tale of a man who keeps getting shown his innermost wishes only for the universe to rip them away seconds later. With Andrés, at least, he got to feel his sweet kiss, while now the gold will forever remain a blur in front of him.

###  **xvii**

Considering the universe's sense of humor, Palermo is allowed to be on edge.

And as one does with a slur spitting homophobic racist, he smashes Gandía's head in. Supposedly, hostages are not to be touched, but really, this one is asking for it.  
Perhaps there is more to it. The constant feeling of already failing this heist and, therefore, Andrés, sits hot in his chest and threatens to explode. So, instead of letting it out on one of the other robbers, Palermo allows for a moment of anger to overcome him and beat the slurs out of Gandía. However, he doesn't actually hit him all that often, his depth perception is ruined after all, but the few hits he gets in are incredibly satisfying.

Denver drags him away, and the panicked shouting of his colleagues is not all that understandable as he hasn't even done proper damage yet. Maybe in a second attempt, he can aim for a few better spots, get some bone-crunching in there, but as they lead him to the library, Nairobi is already furiously spewing curses at him.  
"What were you trying to prove? That you're in control? Beating a guy who is tied up? All that proves is you're a piece of shit!"

He is blind with rage; Palermo’s blood is boiling, and just like a feral animal, he hisses and bites back. There is still so much fight left in him, something nobody could ever beat out of his body no matter how hard they try. It isn't until Denver chimes in that Palermo takes a moment to breathe and listen to Nairobi. She is ungrateful, reminds Palermo of the plan and El Profesor's rules as if Palermo isn't the only one trying to get through this heist without getting sidetracked by dumb shit.   
For the plan, he is ignoring everything. His health has to wait as well as every panic-inducing glimpse of yellow and whatnot, but just like in the heist that killed Andrés, that took his colors away, El Profesor is nowhere to be seen. So, fuck his rules!

"I'm going to explain something to you about the rules. Any _hijo de remil puta_ who dares to insult any member of my team - I will break his skull." In his voice, he carries just the right amount of smug certainty to fit perfectly to his Palermo persona. "And you will keep your mouth shut unless you want to open it to thank me."

It should be evident by now, his plan, his command, but they don't listen to him. Nairobi threatens a mutiny, and Helsinki, when commanded to tie her up, doesn't react. No, instead, they both unload their emotional baggage right in front of Palermo. 

"Helsi," Nairobi pleads, and the big guy looks heartbroken without moving an inch, but really, what was that about El Profesor's rules again?  
This whole spiel between them; this impossible love that she carries within her chest makes Palermo sick, makes him want to hurt her as much as he has been damaged for believing in the impossible. 

There is something to say about love and soulmates, the romanticism of it, but Martín knows, love is nothing but a futile endeavor that ends in pain. He feels pity for them. "I'm sorry, but Helsinki loves me," the 'not you' is left hanging unsaid but the metaphorical knife aimed at her, still finds its target.

"Let me tell you a few things because you're old enough. In romantic relationships, there is the lover and the beloved," he keeps going and explains the lover's passion and devotion as well as the beloved's limits and the lack of change that occurs with new colors appearing. In the end, it hits a bit too close to his past as Martín can't keep the quiver out of his voice. "I'm not saying being a lover is bad. Don't get me wrong, por favor, but you know what? Lovers suffer a lot, _corazón_." 

Martín suffered; with pure devotion, he lived through years and years of blindness for his beloved but not anymore. Instead, Palermo has fun. He is in it purely for the sex and doesn't get affected by love.

When Nairobi turns around, there are tears in her eyes. "The only miserable one in this whole story is you." She is right, of course, but his mask doesn't slip up.  
"With your speeches about love and 'boom, boom, ciao'. That's because you're too much of a coward to admit the truth."

No, no, something cries within him. A piece of his mind that is long gone and dead, commands to stop Nairobi before she can dig deeper and drag Martín's shame up. His attempt at interrupting her sounds desperate. "The only truth is reality. And I'm going to explain it to you. Look, you love the big man. Big man loves me, and I don't love anyone."

She knows she got him and Palermo can see it. Nairobi talks about love needing courage, about how she is so much braver than he could ever be, and isn't that just perfect? Because it's true. It hurts to watch her open up in a way Palermo can't, and Martín has forgotten how to. 

He shakes his head, but it's weak, it doesn't hide his inner turmoil. As Nairobi steps closer, close enough for him to see the details of her face, she reaches into his chest and rips the stupid black heart out for the entire room to see.  
"How long was it? You were in love with Berlín for ten years, and you never dared to tell him? Of course, you worshiped him and followed him around like a puppy, but that's all. Now what? You lost your chance, and he is dead. You're empty inside. Your world is grey, and you know, you've been left behind."

Palermo is a monster, a bastard who ruins everything he touches. He is someone who is fundamentally unlovable and shoves everyone away once they're too close.   
Truthfully, he wonders why his new color appeared only after sleeping with Helsinki. He wonders why the flashes of something unimaginable only appeared as soon as fate brought him closer to the Serb, but it doesn't matter. Helsinki deserves better, and Martín isn't what he wants. 

"Let's go back to work," Nairobi voices her peace offering. She is fully aware she laid his soul bare and rendered him useless.

Whatever is still allowing Martín to stand, fades aways as soon as Nairobi stalks out of the room. In a somewhat controlled manner, his knees buckle, and he lowers himself to sit before looking at the ceiling. Martín is willing himself to remain strong. As soon as Denver leaves him alone with Helsinki, his resolve breaks, and tears flood freely.

###  **xviii**

The show must go on, and somehow, they get Río back. One would think that the plan can continue seamlessly, but it keeps getting messier. The boy breaks up with Tokio, wanting to find his soulmate before he possibly dies a young death, and the crazy girl ends up drunk. Palermo can respect that, somehow, but not on the job, _por favor_! Still, he keeps out of the teen drama and tries his best to hold everything together. 

It doesn’t last.  
Lisboa “dies”. ( It takes embarrassingly long for Martín and Sergio to remind each other that you lose your colors the same moment your soulmate dies. ) 

Nairobi lets a sniper almost kill her, and the others blame the one-eyed captain for not protecting her. They contradict him on every turn, put words into his mouth, and even as he tries to help her, they act as if Nairobi’s sobbed begging doesn’t affect him. ( It breaks his heart to see such a strong woman cry. )

So Martín tries to leave after that. It’s not like he has anything left. Andrés is dead, his vision is fucked, the plan is fucked, and nobody wants to listen to the man who came up with it.   
He shaves, dresses for his funeral, and it’s long overdue anyway. With the eyepatch off, he can almost pretend everything is okay, that his eyes are fine and that the golden corners of the mirror don’t bother him. As he walks out of the bathroom, Martín leaves Palermo behind, and it's back to the usual right into the dark hole that he is used to.

Alas, Tokio tries to shoot him and doesn't have the spine to aim for his head. It's such a shame they don't even let him die in peace. What is it, that Martín can't seem to meet his end, but it's Helsinki who talks him down. Truthfully, Palermo could blow the man up, show he is dangerous, and doesn't care about any of these people, but as strong arms hug him, Martín doesn't want to hurt him. Helsinki kisses his cheek and mutters: “I got you.” He thinks Helsinki might actually mean it.  
Martín doesn't fully know what spurred the realization. Somehow Helsinki always looks past Palermo and sees the man with his dead vision and a broken heart and still won't let him go. Slowly but surely, the resignation that Helsinki deserves a better soulmate, sinks in. It’s a crushing feeling and Martín clings all the harder to the big man.

The universe wants to drag poor Helsinki down with him, and that cannot happen. Let it be cruel to Martín, but it shouldn’t forsake somebody as kind as Helsinki.

When they tie him to a chair to let him rot between the hostages, the remnants of Palermo show their ugly face. Although he doesn't want to be this person anymore, something in his mind folds together and allows him to see a clear picture in front of him. Tokio is a problem, and this heist needs a strong leader. It needs Palermo, but at the same time, if it fails, he doesn’t want to be around. No, let Gandía take care of his problem. Palermo hopes for silent chaos that ends in him leading the heist again as he helps solve this mess. ( It’s a win or die scenario; no in-between, he thinks and either outcome is welcome. )

Well, it doesn't happen exactly according to plan, and Gandía turns on him almost immediately. The psychopath lets everyone know who helped him escape and seeing as Palermo is no longer in a position over him, Gandía hunts him and Nairobi specifically. 

Helsinki unties him and the gang builds up a mock trial. The sentence: _pending_. For now, they want Palermo to help stop Gandía and rectify his mistake. - He doesn't see the blow coming, but as Martín wakes up, Nairobi is gone, and dread settles in his stomach. 

###  **xix**

Finding Nairobi would be a lot easier if Palermo could still see red and follow the vibrant trail of blood through his obscured vision. Of course, Estocolmo and Denver are both seeing, but they can't search the entire Bank of Spain by themselves. Whereas, his cursed yellow coupled with the overall blurry sight, makes him useless in the hunt for Gandía. 

That is, of course, until Martín hears gunshots, followed by the helpless cries of a woman. In a rather impressive sprint, he arrives first, just in time to witness someone shooting a hole in the bathroom door. A breathless minute passes as Helsinki and Bogotá arrive, before Nairobi's face is presented to them like a taxidermy trophy, framed by the door and its golden ornaments. 

Within the next few moments, he thinks he can feel himself aging with every second, but he can't act, can't save her. They're all helpless, having to sing to Gandía's tune and concede to his demands.

In the end, it's of no use.

When she falls, time comes to a stop. The bullet tears a hole through her head, and Martín knows it should be red, but the grey substance plastered to her head makes it all seem mercifully unreal. No red means no blood.   
That is until her body slowly but inevitably drops to the ground, slumping in itself. Within seconds dark liquid pools around the unmoving form of Nairobi. 

Palermo is directly responsible for her death, and as he watches black ( which he knows should look red ) blood cradle her body, Martín can only scream. In another lifetime, he would watch in fascination how the vibrant red grows darker and yet remains the same. Instead, it's a cold terror that fills Martín as he barely sees the golden specks on her hand through his tears. She is a blur for all he knows and no longer a person.

Somewhere in the distance, Martín is aware of Denver running after Gandía to throw a grenade and blast the bastard to hell. Martín's grief is, once more, overwhelming. 

In a pool of blood, he kneels next to Helsinki. Their bodies are gravitating towards each other while mourning the passing of their friend. Despite everything, Martín respects her, knows her to be strong, but not even Nairobi can walk away from this. Next to him, he can see the way Helsinki's eyes are filled with tears, the way the man holds Nairobi's tiny hand in his, and Martín feels himself grow weak.

Later, it's Helsinki who helps him up. Bogotá puts a sheet over her lifeless form, and suddenly the spell that binds Martín to the ground is lifted. He can't help the way he falls against Helsinki's chest, but with a strong arm around Martín's waist, the man holds him close. Exhaustion and pain make his vision swim, while he is vaguely aware of being brought into an empty office and being pushed onto a couch. 

###  **xx**

Martín wakes up to big hands carding through his hair and his head lying on someone’s lap. A lifetime ago, he wouldn’t have allowed this. But upon opening his eyes, blinking away the sleep, and realizing his vision won’t get better, he turns to the blurry figure looking down on him. This one person Martín decides to let into his heart.  
In a sudden fit of personal growth and remorse, he sits up and proclaims the first thing that comes to his mind: "I'm sorry. I’m directly responsible for all of this.   
He got Nairobi because of me. I didn’t think it through and caused so much pain."

"What do you know of pain?" Helsinki's voice doesn't betray the tears pooling in his eyes. However, the way he shakes his head and speaks through clenched teeth, tells Martín everything he needs to know.

Pain is an old companion, something that finds him time and time again, no matter how much Martín wishes for it to disappear. It always comes back, and takes a little piece of him every time they cross paths. By now, his soul is missing enough for him to think he can never be complete again. "Pain is a loan shark. It leaves you with a grey debt that you can never pay back."

"I can handle pain. Lots of pain."

"But you shouldn’t. Too much ruins you, my friend." And Helsinki shouldn’t be ruined. He is a beacon of hope, a soft man with the warmth of a thousand suns inside of him and whose smile is strong enough to illuminate an entire room. As he is sitting in front of the ornate doors, the golden shapes shine around him like a halo. Helsinki is beautiful and whole; he is everything Martín isn't. "Don’t let the pain take you to a place from where you can’t return. You have no idea. Otherwise, you could end up becoming a piece of shit like me. This colorblind monster I've become; a guy who destroys everything he touches. Someone who's wanted to die for years." 

Tears well into his eyes, making Helsinki’s face unrecognizable as the other remains quiet, but it's okay, Martín isn't done yet, he still has a lot to say.  
"You don't get out of there. Look, hermano, all that bullshit boom, boom, ciao, made me treat you like trash. I wasn't brave. I couldn't be - I didn't have the strength." A rattling breath escapes Martín. He is desperately trying to be brave for Helsinki. "But I'm telling you, I'm here with you. You're not alone."

When Helsinki finally speaks up, it’s both terrifying and a relief. "I know. I've known that from the beginning. I know who you are."

Martín turns to Helsinki and offers his hand. He wants this to mark a new beginning, to make a new introduction as someone courageous enough to put his feelings into words. "My name is Martín Berrote. I was born in Buenos Aires, but I live in Palermo, Sicily, I see yellow now thanks to you. And I promise you, I am going to get you out of here alive, even if I have to give my own life." 

And maybe it’s a step in the right direction as Helsinki takes his hand and pulls him to his chest. "My name is Mirko Dragic. I'm from Belgrade. I lost Oslo at the Royal Mint of Spain, and I lost Nairobi, but I'm not gonna lose anyone else. Especially not you, Martín Berrote."

In an incredible display of courage, Martín pulls the two of them impossibly closer until he can rest their foreheads together. The way they sit, with their overalls bound around their waists, seeing eye to eye, it’s easier to pretend they’re just two men with matching outfits. No uniforms are marking them as criminals in the middle of a life-changing moment, then and there, they’re just Mirko and Martín. For a moment, they breathe in sync, as the world outside fades away, and they can just focus on each other's presence.

When the silence breaks, it's because of Helsinki, whose voice fills with mirth instead of the grief from before. "So, yellow?" Because yes, Martín doesn't fit the stereotype of a sunny yellow person. The negative aspect, the cowardice that his color supposedly brings, is one thing, but not much else applies to him. Especially not the man he pretends to be during the heist.

"What can I say, you fucked some color into me."

A choked noise. "-- Is that why you called me a virtuoso?"

"No, señor, you managed that all on your own." Hold pause for a daring idea. Martín's hand wanders up Helsinki's arm and comes to rest on his shoulder. It’s clear to see that he forces himself to continue. The words themselves aren’t new to him, but never before have they held such strength over Martín as they do now. Funny, how he can straight up offer any sexual activity and still gets flustered at the mere thought of the intimacy a tender touch brings. "Will you kiss me?" 

And who would’ve known it, but the scratchy beard tickling his face before their kiss is quite a magical feeling. Similarly, the rush of colors is causing a familiar headache, but the soft gasp from Helsinki, while their lips move against each other, makes up for it. For a second, Martín feels guilty, thinks chaining the man to his soul is unfair, cruel, and a thousand more insecurities crawl through his mind before he feels Helsinki resuming his passionate administration with even more devotion than before.

They'll talk about it, Martín promises himself, but as he opens his eyes only to stare into Helsinki's steel blue iris, he vaguely reschedules his promise for a later time.   
He thinks back to Andrés and how he claimed blue to be the most beautiful color, how it allows you to drown in someone else's gaze, and Martín thinks he finally understands.

A part of him will always belong to Andrés, but the here and now is promising a bright future. One that Martín is looking forward to sharing with Helsinki as soon as they get out of the bank. 


End file.
